River rock, smooth and cool
Glistening in the midday sun
A testament to time and strength
Beneath the rushing waters run

Carved by centuries of flow
Each curve and groove tells a story
Of the world's relentless dance
Of nature's boundless glory

I pause to touch your ancient surface
Feel the weight of your solid form
And marvel at your steadfastness
Amidst the chaos of the storm

River rock, you stand unmoving
A symbol of resilience and grace
A reminder of the beauty
That lies within this wild place

because the stream cuts me into paths every morning:
makes me shallow and deep, soft, jagged and drifting
and we all greet the crayfish in miller’s creek eventually:
become ships in the komorebi
become chips off of secret rock below the rusty pylon
on a hilltop, invisible, quietly
pinging signals to the strangers nextdoor from a raspberry bush

because we all become scarecrows, lost
in tomato vine towns
and red maple roots and branches
scared to disturb the dirt or the clouds

because sometimes the bats come out at dusk
to enrapture small ghosts that hang on wilted branches in the woods
climbing toward where the sun used to be

and i join them when that little river runs deep enough

Each
Day
I
Pray
To slay
My depression.
Never been a quitter,
But I’d like to quit this obsession.
This obsession with my sadness.
And with my social status.
It’s like I fetishize the madness
Endlessly raging
Inside of my soul.
And I swear I don’t have
A place to just go
And lay low
For a while.

A place where I don’t
Have
To
Fake
A
Smile.